


Mask Hopeless, Mask Regret

by Aletheran



Category: The Stone Dance of the Chameleon - Ricardo Pinto
Genre: 2nd person POV, Angst, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealousy, Longing, M/M, i'll add in more tags as they come up, kumardian fight, self-destructive behaviour, there is no blood or gore fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aletheran/pseuds/Aletheran
Summary: “Sardian took a page out of your book, what with the stunt you pulled with Anico. His date tonight is Lymitie Varian.”Of course you’d known that. Your lover fucking the man you detest most is pretty big news.“So what? He’s allowed to be with whoever he likes," you muster with an aching heart.“Is that why you’re here? Drinking your heart out in front of the shrine you had built in honour of his third majority?”





	1. Hahor

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for Kumatuya's birthday on 5th August. i originally only wrote this to share with my friend, but ehhh, 2ed is coming soon, i want my fic to be the first SDC ao3 fic okay 🙊🙊
> 
> this is set during the Kumardian fight, which spanned 11 months of idk-what-Nuhuron. Kumatuya was 24 (birthday 5th of Gua), Sardian 21 (birthday 5th of Mandara, aka SAME AS MINE), calculate yourself. 
> 
> anyways, it's 5am, i'm going to sleep. i'll edit when i wake up
> 
> my tumblr is suth-sardian.tumblr.com , so if you're discovering me from here be sure to check that out too! there's way too much SDC trash there

You shiver as the Hahor wind makes your blanket slip off your body. It is by no means the chillest month, but you are, strangely, far colder than you remember being before. Sighing, you inch towards the other side of the bed, where Sardian must’ve rolled to in his sleep.

Your arm, lifting to wrap around him, captures nothing.

A frown overcomes your face in your sleep. You twist and turn, getting anxious when your body realises that it is all alone in the bed. You slacken.

Both the side tables around the bed are set with glasses, even though yours rarely gets used. You like to drink from the other. There are writing pens and charcoal sticks of varying densities on the desk. Clothes for people of different heights. Seashells from travels. Paper. Ribbons. Colours. 

Every aspect gives the indication of a space lovingly lived in by two.

But you are alone.

+++++

Your attendants exit the room in the middle of dressing you, leaving you only accompanied by the scent of sandalwood from incense and jasmine from the perfume. A minute passes, then two, and it becomes evident that they haven’t gone to bring a suit from another closet. You wonder where they’ve gone.

Sighing and feeling annoyed at your partially dressed state, you go to your dressing table, sitting down in front of the mirror. You meet eyes with yourself, smiling at their emerald green.

_ “It was you! I—I remember now!” _

_ “Remember what?” _

_ “You asked me when we first met, and I said your first majority, but we met before, too, once. I went to the Clave with Papa when I was three but I got lost. I saw you at the Stone Dance, you helped me find my way again. I can’t ever forget your eyes.” _

You lean forward to look closer, putting fingers on your cheek. It smudges the makeup below your left eye, exposing dark circles. You look away.

To distract yourself, you fiddle about with your jewellery boxes, opening and closing many of them. You pick up a little box of black velvet expecting to see a ring when it exposes a chartreuse green ribbon wound in a ring, tabbed with a chameleon.

“Oh.”

You suddenly remember why the slaves left. Opening a drawer all the way out, you put the box at the very end. 

When your attendants return, you tell them not to leave you alone from the next time. There’s no one to check for poisoned needles for.

+++++

Word soon spreads about your fight with Sardian. In the court, lords start to approach you in a way you hadn’t experienced since you were seventeen. You get blushing smiles. When someone’s shoulders brush yours, their apologies are filled with flustered eye contact. Many start to dress prettier hoping, you assume, to catch your eye.

+++++

_ He doesn’t show up to court. Why doesn’t he show up to court? _

+++++

Your office fills up with gifts from suitors, silk flowers and gemstone pins, embroidery and chocolates. You’re gifted elaborate poems, fine inks, richly dyed gloves. Gem painted decks of cards show up, and gold belts, and kohl.

+++++

_ Why won’t he write? It’s been so long. I’m getting scared. _

+++++

Swallowing your pride, you pull up your pen and replace the cartridge. You bring out a fresh sheet of vellum. You heat green wax over the lamp. You think.

In sharp characters, you write your message to be delivered to the Suth apartments.

You seal it with your blood ring and order it delivered, not letting yourself remember how different the last time you’d sent a message to him had been.

+++++

_ I must see you. _

+++++

You stand in front of the window, your hands shaking around the sill. 

Your breath hitches when you hear the door being opened, followed by footsteps approaching you. Your heartbeat trembles in your ears. You turn around, words forming at your lips—

“Greetings, Celestial.”

Suth Spinel.

Your eyes narrow.

“Why are you here?”

Spinel’s pale blue eyes glitter in the dark. He smiles.

“I got your letter. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“My letter was addressed to Sardian.”

He chuckles.

“Not so. It was only ordered to be delivered to the lord of the Suth Apartments. Our dear Ruling Lord moved back to Coomb Suth a while ago.”

It makes you angry. You understand his desire to be away from you but moving back home feels awfully childish. If he wanted space he could’ve said so. If he wanted to end your relationship he could’ve said so. Running away from his problems is the most immature way to deal with the situation.

Pushing past Spinel, you storm out, slamming the door behind you.

+++++

In your office, you run your fingers over the gift labels, trying to find—

_ There. _

You know this one Sardian’s never gotten along with.

You pull the ribbon apart, opening the gift. It’s a bottle of perfume. You spray it in the room. It smells like orange blossom and plum.

You set the bottle back down, and sit down on your desk. Bringing out a fresh card, you write a message, then seal it, putting it in the pile to be delivered the next morning. The scent of the perfume lingers as you leave. You don’t care to take the bottle with you.

+++++

Etalla Anico greets you at court with a sly smile. His hands linger on yours when he moves to leave after kissing them.

+++++

_ Come to my rooms tonight. _

+++++

Later, in the dark, you study Anico’s sleeping form next you, breath finally stable as you come down from the high of climax. Melancholy seeps in as you watch the moonlight illuminate his (and you feel guilty for thinking this) unremarkable form. Dark hair and pale skin. He could be anyone.

(He could be  _ him _ .)

Clouds pass over the moon, concealing what little you could see of him. He’s a wraith. A ghost.

He shifts in his sleep, pulling on the blankets, as if beckoning you closer. Even if you can’t see the difference, you can feel the difference in weight, in breath, in scent.

You take off the blanket, letting him have it, if only to put some space between you two. You open the drawer at the base of the bed and rummage for a robe or a cloak. You pull out one made out of impossibly soft wool. Sighing, you’re about to put it on when you notice the embroidery on the shoulder—a curling white chameleon. Your heart races. You look over your shoulder, feeling embarrassed but excited. Finding Anico asleep, you pull the fine fabric to your face.

It only smells of soap.

Your shoulders drop. Of course it only smells of soap. You fold it and keep it back, choosing to sleep bare and fully exposed to the cold.

Your anger has faded. All you can feel is a vague disgust at yourself.

+++++

You’re woken by a light kiss on your lips. You shiver, coming to awareness. Your body is so cold.

Anico’s eyes are heartbreakingly blue as they glitter in the morning light. You see he’s fully dressed and sitting beside you on a chair, running fingers through wet hair. He smiles when you open your eyes, sighing.

“You’re really as beautiful as they say, Jade Lord,” he murmurs, delight and awe evident in his voice. “You didn’t let me keep the candles lit last night so I couldn’t see.”

“Is that right?” you force yourself to chuckle.

The two of you talk for a while before he gets up.

“I need to get going,” he says, signing a graceful apology. He kisses you. “Do you want to… again?”

Pushing hair out of your eyes, you put on your prettiest smile. “Yes.”

+++++

“Twine, can you get me Sardian’s schedule for this week?”

+++++

You time three separate appearances.

At Cumulus’s lunch, you unmask Anico and kiss him deeply, passionately. You wait.

You come to meet Anico at Court, causing something of a scandal when you whisk him away mid-session. You check on your timepiece as he bites your shoulder.

You dance with him at an Argentum Masque, waiting for Sardian to show up.

He never does.

+++++

You break it off with Anico soon after. His scent vanishes from your room as soon as it had come.


	2. Mandara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sardian's birthday, AKA mega Kumatuyangst 🤦♀️🤦♀️ smh, just make up to him boo
> 
> also: the passage from the summary! 😀 (i use way too many emojis)
> 
> Kanatora Covellite is Kumatuya's ex boyfriend from when he was 17, the last of Kumatuya's relationships before he got together with Sardian. 
> 
> he actually broke up with Covellite because he'd acknowledged his love for Sardian and wanted to pursue him despite the fact that Covellite was one of the few good relationships had :O it was sad, and i think there's some unresolved feelings there even though Kumatuya loves Sardian 1000%
> 
> as always, find me on tumblr at suth-sardian.tumblr.com :D

“Master, the robes you’d ordered a few weeks ago have been completed. They’re in your blue closet.”

“Thank you, Aki. I’ll check them out in a moment.”

+++++

Oh.

+++++

_ Sardian _

_ The robes we’d ordered for your birthday masque have been completed. Would you like me to send them over? _

+++++

You’re anxious all afternoon, pacing about, waiting for a response. Twine arrives with it. You break the seal. You stare at the characters spelling out the message. They’re not even written in Sardian’s hand.

_ Celestial _

_ Thank you for offering. The robes are not required. _

You crush it.

+++++

You have the robes stored away, where you’ll never see them again.

+++++

Your wounded palm stings around the bottle of wine as you lower it from your lips. Your bare feet are quiet in the Shrines Hall. Even in the pitch dark, you know the way.

_ You throw the jade key to the floor, taking a cruel delight in the way it makes Sardian flinch. _

You almost trip, barely regaining your balance as your body crashes into the door. You stay unmoving, taking in the lilies of the relief with your cheeks.

_ The jade shatters into a million pieces. _

You take a drink again, savouring the way it burns in your throat. You push the door open, but it doesn’t budge.

_ “All fucking yours.” _

“Looking for something?” a voice calls out from the dark. You turn around. He steps into a sliver of moonlight pouring from the window. “Or are you just lost?”

You recognise the voice. Kanatora Covellite.

You move to leave, trying to brush past him, when he says, “You can’t fathom how absolutely stunning he looks.”

You pause. 

“How do you know?”

He leans into your shoulder. “It’s what everyone always says. Half this city is in love with him.”

Your anger flares.

“Anything else? More hearsay?” 

Even when you’d been together, Covellite always spoke about Sardian in dismissive, cruel tones, as if he was far below him. He hasn’t changed.

“Sardian took a page out of your book, what with the stunt you pulled with Anico. His date tonight is Lymitie Varian.”

Of course you’d known that. Your lover fucking the man you detest most is pretty big news.

“So what? He’s allowed to be with whoever he likes.”

“Is that why you’re here? Drinking your heart out in front of the shrine you had built in honour of his third majority?”

“None of your business.”

He shrugs. Your shoulders drop.

“Lovely night, huh.”

“Mandara always is.”

There’s shuffling. Covellite suddenly comes too close to you, crowding in your space, pushing you back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you whisper, taking hold of his wrists in your hands. Covellite breaks your hold and moves his hands close again, cupping your cheeks gently, running a thumb over your lips.

“It’s been eight years. Let me discover your body again.”

You wonder how Sardian would feel if he hears about you being with Covellite, with everything Covellite had said to him all those years ago.

You set the bottle down, and let Covellite push you against a wall.


End file.
